The Simpkins Plot Read online

  CHAPTER XII.

  Meldon was even more energetic than usual on the morning after theboating picnic. By getting up very early indeed he was able to shootfour rabbits, members of a large family which lived by destroying MajorKent's lettuces. He also bagged two wood-pigeons which had flown allthe way from the Ballymoy House trees for the purpose of gorgingthemselves on half-ripe gooseberries in the Major's garden. He thenrowed out in the boat about a mile from the shore, and had thesatisfaction of bathing in absolute solitude and diving as far as hecould into deep water. He had, as was natural, a fine appetite forbreakfast, and ate in a way which gratified Major Kent and afterwardsstartled his housekeeper. But nature takes her revenges even on thosewho seem best able to defy her. After breakfast Meldon settled himselfin a comfortable chair on the lawn, and was disinclined to move fromit. The Major went into his study to make up some accounts, and theday being fine and warm, sat beside an open window. Meldon's chair wasonly a short distance from the window, so that he was in a position tocarry on a conversation without raising his voice. For some time hedid not speak, for his morning pipe was particularly enjoyable. Thenhe felt it necessary to make some excuse for his idleness.

  "There's no use," he said, "my starting before eleven. Simpkins won'tbe out of bed until late to-day. He'll be thoroughly exhausted afterall he went through on the _Spindrift_."

  "Start any time you like," said the Major.

  Meldon's remark interrupted him in the middle of adding up a longcolumn of pence. He failed to recollect where he had got to and wasobliged to begin over again.

  "I can have the trap, I suppose," said Meldon, a couple of minuteslater.

  Major Kent had got to the shillings column.

  "Yes. But do stop talking."

  "Why?" said Meldon. "Without conversation we might as well be livingin total solitude; and Bacon says, in one of his essays, that solitudeis only fit for a god or a beast. You may like being a beast, Major,but I don't. You'll hardly set up, I suppose, to be a god."

  "Hang it all, J. J.! I've forgotten how many shillings I had to carry,and now I shall have to begin the whole tot over again."

  "Hand it out to me," said Meldon, "and I'll settle the whole thing foryou in two minutes."

  "Certainly not," said the Major. "I know your way of dealing withaccount books. I may be slow, but I do like to be tidy."

  "Very well," said Meldon, "if you choose to be unsociable, merely inorder to give yourself a lot of quite unnecessary trouble, of courseyou can. I won't speak again."

  Ten minutes later he did speak again, to the great annoyance of MajorKent, who was estimating the total cost of the hay eaten by his poloponies during the year--a most intricate business, for hay varied agood deal in price.

  "Doyle's coming along the road in his trap," said Meldon, "and he looksto me very much as if he was coming here. He must want to see youabout something. He can't possibly have any business with me."

  "Hang Doyle!"

  "If you like," said Meldon, "I'll deal with him and keep him off you.I should rather enjoy a chat with Doyle."

  "Thanks. I wish you would. It can't be anything important."

  "I expect he has come for your subscription for the illuminated addresshe and Dr. O'Donoghue are getting up for the police sergeant. Ipromised the other day that you'd give something. If you sign a chequeand stick it out on the window-sill, I'll fill up the amount and handit on to Doyle. I should say that one pound would be a handsomecontribution, and I may get you off with ten shillings. It'll alldepend on how the money is coming in. He's turning in at the gate now,so you'd better hurry up.--Ah! Good morning, Doyle. Lovely day, isn'tit? Seen anything of our friend Simpkins this morning?"

  "I have not," said Doyle, "and I don't want to. I wouldn't care if Inever set eyes on that fellow again."

  "You'd have liked to have seen him yesterday," said Meldon.

  "I would not."

  "You would. The Major had him out for a day in the _Spindrift_, and--"Meldon winked.

  Doyle got down from his trap and stood at the horse's head.

  "A sicker man," said Meldon, "you never saw."

  "Sick!"

  "As a dog. Beastly sick. I don't care to enter into details; but,considering the small amount he ate during the day, the way he kept atit would have surprised you."

  "Sick! What's the good of being sick? Why didn't you drown him?"

  "We had Miss King out too," said Meldon, "and we didn't want to drownher. Besides, it wasn't the kind of day in which you could very welldrown any one."

  "What brought me over here this morning," said Doyle, "was--"

  "I know," said Meldon. "You want to gather in the Major's subscriptionto the illuminated address with the apple trees in the corners. Youshall have it. He's signing the cheque this minute."

  "I'll take it, of course," said Doyle, "if it's quite convenient to theMajor; but it wasn't it I came for."

  "What was it, then? If you have any idea of dragging the Major intothat salmon ambuscade of O'Donoghue's, I tell you plainly I won't haveit."

  "It's nothing of the kind," said Doyle. "After what you said on Fridaywe gave that notion up. What brought me here to-day was to see if theMajor would lend me a set of car cushions. The rats got in on the onesI have of my own, and they've holes ate in them so as you'd be ashamedto put them on a car."

  "You shall have them with the greatest possible pleasure," said Meldon.

  "Not the new ones," said the Major through the window.

  "I thought," said Meldon; "that you didn't want to be disturbed, andthat I was carrying on this negotiation with Mr. Doyle. You must doone thing or the other, Major. Either come out and manage your ownaffairs, or else leave them entirely in my hands.--You can't," he said,turning to Doyle, "have the new cushions unless for some very specialpurpose. Is Miss King thinking of going for a drive on your car? Ifshe is, the Major will lend the new cushions."

  "She is not," said Doyle; "not that I heard of any way, though shemight take the notion later."

  "Then what do you want the cushions for?"

  "It's an English gentleman," said Doyle; "a high-up man by allaccounts, that has the fishing took from Simpkins. He'll be stoppingin the hotel, and he'll want the car to take him up the river in themorning. The kind of man he is, I wouldn't like to be putting him offwith my old cushions. They're terrible bad, the way the rats has themate on me."

  "If he really is a man of eminence in any walk of life," saidMeldon--"a bishop, for instance, or a member of the House of Lords, ora captain of industry, you can have the cushions. If he's simply asecond-rate man of the ordinary tourist type, you can't."

  "He's a judge," said Doyle, "and what's more, an English judge."

  "I'm surprised to hear you saying a thing like that. As a Nationalistyou ought to be the last to admit that an English judge is in any waysuperior to an Irish one. He may be better paid--I daresay he isbetter paid, for we never get our fair share of what's going--but inthe things that really matter--in legal acumen, for instance, which isthe great thing we look for in judges--I don't expect the Irishman is abit behind. However, English or Irish, the mere fact of his being ajudge doesn't prove that he's a man of what I call real eminence. Idon't think the Major will let you have his best car cushions for somesleepy old gentleman who sits on a bench and makes silly jokes. Thereare lots of judges knocking about that rat-eaten car cushions would betoo good for. What's your man's name?"

  "Hawkesby," said Doyle. "Sir Gilbert Hawkesby, no less."

  Meldon started from his chair.

  "Are you sure of that?" he asked, "absolutely dead certain? This is abusiness over which it won't do to make mistakes."

  "It's what was in his letter, any way," said Doyle, "when he wroteengaging rooms in the hotel."

  "When does he arrive?"

  "To-morrow," said Doyle; "to-morrow afternoon, and I told Sabina tokill a chicken to-day, for it's likely he'll be wanting a bit of dinn
erafter the drive over from Donard. I thought if he had a chicken and abit of boiled bacon, with a custard pudding after that--"

  "Go into the coach-house at once," said Meldon, "and take any cushionsyou want. I can't talk any more to you this morning. I'm going to befrightfully busy."

  Doyle, grinning broadly, led his horse round to the yard. He did notbelieve that Meldon was ever busy. Like most people he failed toappreciate the real greatness of the clergyman.

  Meldon hurried into the house and flung open the door of the study.Major Kent looked up from his papers with a weary smile.

  "Couldn't you and Doyle settle that business of the car cushionsbetween you? I shall never get these accounts done if I'm interruptedevery minute."

  "We could have settled it," said Meldon. "In fact we have settled it,but a question of vastly greater importance has arisen. We arethreatened with something like an actual catastrophe."

  "If it's the kind of catastrophe which involves an hour or so of solidtalk, J. J., don't you think you could manage to put it off for alittle? I shall be quite ready to go into it at any length you likethis evening after dinner."

  "Major," said Meldon, "if an earthquake came--the kind of earthquakewhich knocks down houses--and if thunderbolts were falling red-hot outof the sky, and if a large tidal wave was rushing up across the lawn,and if a moving bog was desolating your kitchen garden and engulfingyour polo ponies, would you or would you not sit calmly there and go onwith your accounts?"

  "If all those things were happening I'd move, of course."

  "There's no 'of course' about it. Some men wouldn't."

  "Nonsense, J. J. The tidal wave alone--"

  "Some men," repeated Meldon, "would sit on and finish their accounts.There was a soldier at Pompeii, for instance--they found his bodycenturies afterwards--who wouldn't stir from his post even when he sawthe molten lava flowing down the street. I thought you might be thatsort of man."

  "I'm not."

  "I'm glad to hear it. That sentry has been made a hero of. I'vefrequently heard him mentioned in sermons as a person to be imitated.In reality he was the worst kind of ass; and I wouldn't like to thinkof your getting embalmed as he did, and being dug out afterwards by anantiquary with a chisel. For the matter of that I shouldn't care tohear of people writing odes about you on account of your going underwhile your sword was in its sheath and your fingers held the pen."

  "What was he doing with the pen?" said the Major. "If he was on sentryduty--"

  "It wasn't that sentry whose fingers held the pen, but braveKempenfelt, another man of the same sort; though there was more excusefor him, because he seems to have been taken by surprise when the landbreeze shook the shrouds."

  "I don't in the least know what you're talking about," said the Major."Is there a moving bog, or a high tide, or anything unusual?"

  "There's something a great deal worse," said Meldon. "Did you hearwhat Doyle said to me a few minutes ago?"

  "I heard him asking for the loan of my car cushions. I don'tparticularly want to lend them, but I shouldn't regard his getting themas a catastrophe at all to be compared to the earthquake and all theother things you were gassing about."

  "The cushions in themselves are nothing, and less than nothing, but didyou hear who he wants them for?"

  "Some judge or other, wasn't it? Salmon fishing."

  "Some judge! What judge?"

  "Did he mention his name? If he did I have forgotten it."

  "He did mention it," said Meldon. "It was Hawkesby--Sir GilbertHawkesby. Now do you see why I say that we are threatened with adisaster worse than the eruption of Mount Vesuvius or the fire andbrimstone that overwhelmed Sodom and Gomorrah?"

  "No, I don't see anything of the sort. What on earth does the judgematter to us?"

  "Can you possibly be ignorant of the fact? No, you can't, for I toldit to you myself. Can you possibly have forgotten that Sir GilbertHawkesby was the judge who tried Mrs. Lorimer for the murder of herhusband?"

  "Oh!" said the Major, "I had forgotten. I never took the same interestin that case that you did, J.J."

  "Well, he was. He was the very judge who summed up so strongly againstthe poor woman. I suppose now it will hardly be necessary for me toexplain how his arrival at Doyle's hotel is likely to affect our plans?"

  "Do you want me to invite him out in the _Spindrift_? If so, I hope togoodness he won't be sick. I had enough of that yesterday."

  "I sometimes think, Major, that you pretend to be stupid simply toannoy me. Don't you see that sooner or later he's bound to come acrossMiss King? He'll see her next Sunday in church, if he doesn't meet hersooner. He'll recognise her at once. The trial occupied ten days, andduring the whole of that time she was standing opposite to him and hewas studying her face. He can't fail to know her again when he seesher. Now, recollect that he believed in her guilt. I pointed out toyou at the time that he summed up dead against her--"

  "I don't believe she was guilty, J. J."

  "Nor, apparently, did the jury," said Meldon. "But the judge did.That's the point to bear in mind. Under the circumstances, what is helikely to do? He finds Mrs. Lorimer here masquerading as Miss King,and--"

  "I wish you wouldn't say things like that. Since I have met Miss KingI'm less inclined than ever to believe in that identification of yours.She strikes me--"

  "We are now considering how she will strike the judge," said Meldon,"and how he's likely to act. It seems to me there's only one thing hecan do, and that is warn every marriageable man in the neighbourhood ofMiss King's real character and past record, and then what will happento your plan? Will Simpkins be prepared to marry her? Certainly not."

  "Well, I'm extremely glad the judge is coming if he puts a stop to theway you're going on."

  "I'm not quite sure yet that he is coming," said Meldon.

  "I thought Doyle said--"

  "Doyle said he had engaged rooms at the hotel and taken the fishing.It doesn't absolutely follow that he'll occupy the rooms and catch thesalmon. Sabina Gallagher is, I understand from Doyle, to kill achicken, but it's not quite certain yet that the judge will eat thechicken."

  "It'll depend a good deal on the way it's cooked, I suppose," said theMajor.

  "It will also depend upon the judge's reaching Ballymoy. As a matterof fact, I have a plan in my mind which may--which probablywill--prevent his getting further than Donard. I intend to ask Dr.O'Donoghue to co-operate with me. I can't be quite certain yet thatwe'll be successful in heading off the judge and sending him somewhereelse for his salmon fishing. But my plan is an extremely good one. Itought to come off all right. If it fails, I shall try another. Ishall try two or three more if necessary."

  "I wish you wouldn't. These plans of yours always end in involving usall in such frightful complications."

  "Do you mean to say, Major, that you wish to give up the idea ofSimpkins' marriage and subsequent death?"

  "I've always wished to give it up," said the Major. "Since the day youfirst suggested I never liked it, and I like it much less now that Ihave got to know Miss King. It seems to me a wicked thing even tothink of a girl like that being married to such an utter cad asSimpkins."

  "I don't know how you can sit there and confess without a blush thatyou don't know your own mind for two days together. I'd be ashamed togo back on a thing the way you do. And I'm not going back on this.For one thing, I have a duty to perform to you and Doyle, andO'Donoghue and Sabina Gallagher, and the rector and the policesergeant. In the next place, after all the trouble I've taken to carrythis scheme through, I'm not going to give in just at the moment ofsuccess. I shall go in this morning and see O'Donoghue. To-morrow heand I will drive over to Donard--"

  "I can't give you a horse to-morrow," said the Major.

  "You can if you like."

  "I won't, then."

  "Why not?"

  "Because, if you go playing off fools' tricks on a judge, you'll end ingetting yourself put in prison. T
here is such a thing as contempt ofcourt, and judges are just about the most touchy men there are abouttheir dignity. They don't hesitate for an instant to--"

  "A judge isn't a court," said Meldon, "when he hasn't got his wig on,and besides an English judge has no jurisdiction in this country.However, I'm not going down on my knees to you for the loan of a horseand trap. If you don't choose to oblige me in the matter of your ownfree will I won't place myself under any obligation to you. I shallsimply borrow a bicycle and ride to Donard. O'Donoghue will have toride too, though I don't expect he'll like it. It's twenty miles, andO'Donoghue drinks more than is good for him."

  "Are you going to tell O'Donoghue the whole cock-and-bull plan aboutSimpkins and Miss King and the murder?"

  "No. O'Donoghue is a reasonable man. He doesn't argue and browbeat methe way you do. When I tell him that the removal of Simpkins, andconsequently his own future happiness and comfort, depend very largelyon our being able to keep Sir Gilbert Hawkesby out of Ballymoy, he willbelieve me at once and act in a sensible way."

  "What do you mean to do to the judge when you catch him?"

  "I don't mean to _do_ anything. I suppose you have some wild idea inyour head--"

  "No ideas could be wilder than yours are, J. J."

  "Some wild idea of my maiming the old gentleman, or bribing a man tokidnap him, or sending him a bogus telegram to say that his wife isdying. As a matter of fact, I'm going to do nothing except tell himthe simple truth."

  "I don't believe you could do that, J. J. You've never had anypractice since I knew you."

  "If you think that you will get me to reveal the details of my plan bytaunting me you're greatly mistaken. I can stand any amount of insultswithout turning a hair. A man who is in the right, and conscious ofhis own integrity--you recollect what the Latin poet says about that--"

  "No. I don't. You know I don't read Latin poets, so what's the goodof quoting bits of them to me?"

  "Very well. I won't. But I won't tell you my plan either. I'll sayno more than this: what the judge will hear from my lips to-morrow willbe the simple truth, the truth as Simpkins or any other unprejudicedobserver would tell it. But the truth in this particular case is ofsuch a land that I should be greatly surprised if he doesn't turnstraight round and go home again."

  "Are you going to tell him that Mrs. Lorimer is here? Not that that isthe truth, but I'm really beginning to think you believe it is."

  "No. I'm not going to tell him that. When I said I was going to tellthe truth, I didn't mean that I was going to sit down opposite thatjudge and tell him all the truth I know about everything. It wouldtake days and days to do that, and he wouldn't sit it out. No, I'mgoing to tell him one solid lump of truth which he will listen to--atruth that O'Donoghue will back up; that you'd back up yourself if youwere there; that even Doyle would be forced to stand over if he was putinto a witness box on his oath. But I can't spend the whole dayexplaining things to you. I must go in and hustle Simpkins a bit.There's no reason in the world that I can see why he shouldn't go up toBallymoy House and propose this afternoon. Then I must see O'Donoghueand make arrangements about to-morrow. I shall also, thanks to yourchurlishness, have to borrow a bicycle for myself. Then I must look upthat doddering old ass Callaghan, and tell him to precipitate matters abit if I succeed in hunting Simpkins up to Ballymoy House. If I failto head off the judge--I don't expect to fail, but if by any chance Ido--we shall have no time to spare, and must have Simpkins definitelycommitted to the marriage as soon as possible. Not that it will reallybe much use if the judge gets at him. Simpkins is just the sort ofdishonourable beast who'd seize on any excuse to wriggle out of anengagement; particularly as he'll know that Miss King is scarcely in aposition to go into court and get damages for breach of promise."